Lost Hunter
by Angry Little Mouse
Summary: Killua Zoldyck and Cyrene Amianth are working together to find Cyrene's missing niece, Milly. The problem is: Their teamwork is not entirely voluntary, which might or might not make things harder than they should be. [Killua/OC]
1. Forced teamwork

**I tried really hard to only post one story at a time, but for me, that doesn't really work out. I need variation when writing.  
**

 **So here I am, posting the first chapter of Lost Hunter. :D I just couldn't resist, the inspiration and temptation were too strong.  
**

 **My other story will have priority** _ **at all times**_ **until it's finished, so updates for this one here will be slower until I can concentrate fully on it.**

 **There will be quite a few OCs** **.** **If that's not your cup of tea, take the chance and make a run for it.**

 **Summary: Killua Zoldyck and Cyrene Amianth are working together to find Cyrene's lost niece, Milly. The problem is: Their teamwork is not entirely voluntary, which might or might not make things harder than they should be. [Killua/OC]**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Forced Teamwork**

"Say, do you smoke?"

Cyrene Amianth was driving her jeep along the highway from Redshore city to Dryfield, humming softly along to the melody the radio was playing, tapping her fingers rhythmically onto the steering wheel. She was used to driving alone for hours, and had taken up the hobby of fighting the ensuing boredom with singing. There were barely any cars on the highway in this region, and if she didn't have something to busy herself with, she ran the risk of falling asleep.

They had left Redshore at 05.00 am, had been sitting in the car for eight hours and were still nowhere near their destination.

The question hit her out of nowhere; disrupting the calming activity she had been partaking in, causing her to scowl disdainfully at the person next to her, gripping the steering wheel with more force.

Killua was leaning back in his seat, hands crossed behind his head, staring out the front window.

When the young man had first entered the car, Cyrene would have betted some good money on him falling asleep somewhere along the line. Everyone always did. She had been thoroughly surprised to realize that he had not closed his eyes once in the course of eight hours.

 _At least he's relatively silent most of the time._

"No, I don't. And I _dare_ you to whip out a cigarette in my car. I swear to god you'll be walking to Dryfield. Let me tell you; it's not going to be a fun trip."

"Jeez, calm down. I don't smoke; I just thought you sound as if you would."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that you sometimes sound rougher than a dying motor."

Cyrene _tsked_ and pressed her lips together. She wouldn't want to start another argument. Arguing with Killua was, as she had quickly come to realize, extremely tiring and explosive. They were like two aggressive cats fighting over their territory, both screeching loudly and going for the jugular as soon as the opportunity arouse.

So, instead of firing back a witty comeback, she concentrated on the road in front of her. When she saw a sign signalling a roadhouse appear on the horizon, she breathed out a sigh of relief.

"We're taking a break there; I need to stretch my legs."

Killua just hummed in acknowledgement, otherwise not saying anything on the matter.

After two miles, she exited the motorway and came to a stop in front of a shabby looking building. Opening the door of her jeep, she jumped out onto the asphalt. The air was dry and hot, the sun burning her skin. She stretched her stiff back and moaned in pain when she heard her neck crack.

"Let's get something to eat, I'm starving" she yawned, and made her way to the entrance.

Killua followed her in long strides, quickly catching up to her until he was trotting beside her leisurely. "Are you sure you should drive anymore? You look kind of tired."

"I _am_ tired," she admitted, "but I want to reach Dryfield as soon as possible, preferably today." She looked at her wristwatch, quickly counting the hours in her head. "That'll probably be around eight pm. Fuck my life."

"I can drive for a bit. I have my license, you know," he offered, and she couldn't quite interpret the tone of his voice.

Cyrene glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and, seeing the honest expression on his face, nodded in agreement. "Fine, as long as you don't trash my jeep, in which case we would both have to walk - which, I repeat, would not be a fun trip."

"Don't worry, I've got this. I'm a decent driver."

They ordered two sandwiches and coffees at the counter, and brought them to a bar table in the corner of the little bistro.

Cyrene heartily bit into the still warm bread, smiling contentedly. "You know, for all the filth that's probably around here, these sandwiches are damn good."

"Okay, I'm just coming straight to the point," Killua said out of nowhere, holding the sandwich in his hands without even looking at it. "What's the matter?"

Cyrene was about to take another bite, when his question caused her to stop mid-air. She was itching to just _eat_ , but Killua didn't sound as if he would tolerate for her ignoring his inquiry.

"That's a pretty vague question. 'Straight to the point' my ass. How am I supposed to answer that?"

Killua gritted his teeth. "Then let me rephrase it; why are we driving to Dryfield?"

She laid her sandwich onto the table, looking at him quizzically. "If you're asking why _we_ specifically are driving there, it's because your sister is a worrywart and you have the self-assertion of a loyal puppy when you're around her."

"Don't play dumb! What's in Dryfield that requires two Hunters to solve it?" His cheeks were tainted in a hue of red, but Cyrene chose to ignore it for the time being. The problem at hand was definitely more important.

"Are you serious? She didn't tell you?"

"She told me there was some 'creepy stuff' going on somewhere, and you were determined to solve it, because it affects you personally."

Cyrene shrugged her shoulders, gazing longingly at the snack in her hands. "Well, there you have it."

"That's it?"

"That's it." She looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "There's a reason the word 'solve' is being used there, you know."

"How is it affecting you personally, then? You have to know _that_ at least."

"Apparently, the daughter of my brother disappeared three days ago. He's worried sick, and I'm gonna be honest: I love my niece to bits."

Killua finally took a bite out of his sandwich, some sauce dripping onto the table. "Do you have any more information?" he asked, frowning.

Cyrene furrowed her eyebrows. "Not much. Just that there's been strange things happening. I'm talking _'people,-cattle-and-valuables-disappearing-strange'_."

Killua hummed. "So it's right up your alley."

"You could say that," she mumbled.

Since she had become a Lost Hunter, she had been confronted with many cases of people going missing. Some had been Hunters, some had been civilians – but she had never worked on a personal case, and she doubted her ability to do so more and more, the longer she thought about it.

On one hand she felt obligated to do something, she knew she couldn't just sit still and live her life as she always had when her niece was missing, and there was no denying that it _was_ right up her alley. On the other hand, and this unsettled her, staying professional when feelings were involved was not her strong suit.

She knew she just needed to keep a clear mind at all times. For this reason, she was secretly glad someone was accompanying her. If she were all alone, she might have long gone insane.

When she had told Alluka she would be going to Dryfield for the mission, right after her sister-in-law had called her, she had not anticipated the onslaught of voiced concerns.

" _What if you go missing as well?"_

" _What if you die and I never see you again?"_

Cyrene could still hear Alluka's high pitched, distressed voice, pleading with her to stay, or to take someone with her.

Cyrene knew that Alluka had been worrying about her mental and emotional health more than her ability to solve the case on her own. Alluka feared she might not be able to handle it alone, and wanted her to have some support.

Telling her friend she had always worked alone had _not_ calmed her down. Instead, or so Cyrene assumed, Alluka had told her brother everything, in turn causing him to worry about his sister and _her_ emotional health.

In the end, after Killua's best friend Gon had had the _brilliant_ idea for _Killua_ of all people to just tag along, Alluka had made them meet up.

And here they were.

Really, she and Killua standing in a roadhouse, eating sandwiches together and talking about 'their' case was the result of a chain of unlucky occurrences. A chain of unlucky occurrences and Killua's softness when it came to Alluka.

But they were adults. They could work with this.

At least she told herself that.

"Are you intending to finish your lunch anytime soon?" Killua's voice yanked her out of her thoughts. He was crumbling the paper of the sandwich between his hands, throwing it into the bin next to the table.

"Yup," she answered, and took another bite.

Somehow, she wasn't as hungry anymore.

Killua excused himself, saying he was going to the bathroom. Cyrene shouted after him to refill their gasoline, to which he just grumbled in affirmation.

She leaned into the table in front of her and sighed, chewing slowly. They had a long road ahead of them.

And this was only the beginning.

* * *

"Do you think Killua is resenting me now?"

The meek voice reached Gon's ears, and he immediately turned his head to look at Alluka. Her blue eyes were already shining with unshed tears, and he could clearly see the regret in them.

No matter how often he looked at her eyes, he was always reminded of Killua's own blue eyes.

Over the years, Gon had become a master in reading blue Zoldyck eyes. He was consciously excluding the black ones, because even _he_ was not entirely sure what they were hiding half of the time.

Alluka hadn't even touched her bowl of ice cream. Instead, she was staring at the table in front of her, her hands pressed together in her lap, her figure tense and unmoving.

"Why should he?"

"I guilt-tripped him into going with Cyrene, even though he didn't want to."

"Don't be silly, you couldn't guilt-trip Killua into anything, he knows what he wants. And it was my idea anyway," he added, taking a spoon full of his own chocolate ice cream. "Plus, he agreed entirely on his own."

Gon would not tell her that he had only seen Killua's reluctant expression change when he had looked at Alluka's hopeful eyes, his determination to decline crumbling into a million pieces right before his eyes.

It had been fascinating to watch, to say the least.

"How did you two even meet?" Gon asked, trying to change the subject. Killua would probably skin him alive if he made Alluka worry more than she already did.

"Huh?"

"You and Cyrene, I mean."

Alluka smiled. "One of my pupils went missing, and the child's parents hired her to investigate."

Gon grinned. When he had first heard that Alluka wanted to become an elementary school teacher, he had immediately warmed up to the idea. It just seemed _right_ , and he could effortlessly imagine Alluka standing in the middle of a horde of children, trying to keep track of all of them. He was sure the children absolutely adored her, and if her stories were anything to go by, his assumption was more than correct.

"So, right the day after that, Cyrene came to me, to ask some questions about the missing child," Alluka continued her story, looking as if she was lost in thought. "That's when we met. And when she finally found the child two days later, totally unscathed, I was so relieved and thankful that I invited her for a cup of tea." She smiled sheepishly. "That kind of became a thing afterwards, us drinking tea together, I mean."

"I see," Gon said, and eyed the bowl in front of Alluka curiously. "Won't you eat that? It's melting away right under your nose. Your brother would go crazy if he ever found out you were wasting that bowl of perfectly fine ice cream."

Alluka's head shot up, and she looked at Gon, scandalized. "You wouldn't tell him! You _so_ wouldn't!"

He laughed. "Who knows?"

After that, Alluka practically inhaled the ice cream.

Gon almost regretted having joked about it, because Killua would _definitely_ skin him alive if Alluka choked on a bite of ice cream because of him.

* * *

"Oh god," Cyrene moaned, "who taught you to drive? You can go faster, there aren't any cars!"

"I'm perfectly within the speed limit," Killua retorted, his knuckles white from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel in repressed anger.

Cyrene felt the sweat running down her neck, the heat inside the car was torturous and her hair was sticking to her skin disgustingly.

She opened her braid and pulled her black hair up into a ponytail instead, holding the hair tie between her lips. When the car hit a pothole, it fell out of her mouth and onto the floor. The unruly hair she had arduously gathered at the back of her head fell back down when she let it go out of shock.

"Great."

"What is it?" Killua asked, obviously taking notice of the petulance in her voice.

"I feel like I'm being cooked alive and my hair tie just bowed out." She crouched down, probably cutting a ridiculous figure, searching for it. After a few seconds, she came back up, feeling just _done_. "I can't find it."

"You hair's fine the way it is," Killua remarked, not in the least bit sounding as if he meant it as a compliment. It was obvious he was just doing damage control, not having any interest in discussing hair and hair ties.

"Thanks, Mr. Sycophant, but that's really not the problem. I don't think you'd understand," she said, eyeing his short hair enviously. It looked really fluffy, and the temptation to ruffle it overcame her.

When she had first laid eyes upon him, she hadn't been able to believe that he and Alluka were siblings. At first glance, they looked like day and night. Only after some thorough inspection of both of their faces, she had been able to see the resemblance in their facial structures; the way their noses pointed upward slightly, or the way little dimples formed at the corners of their mouths when they smiled. Not to mention they both had the most vibrant, blue eyes she had ever seen.

If she didn't play attention, she knew she could get lost in those eyes entirely, which was something she'd rather avoid.

At least for now.

"Why don't you just cut it?" Killua suggested.

"Because it _is_ fine the way it is," she said, slightly disturbed by the thought of bidding farewell to her long hair, "but it's a pain in the neck to maintain, and the hot weather is not helping, either."

"It's only going to get worse," he said, sounding a bit miffed himself.

"I know; I've been there before. My brother has been living in Dryfield for five years."

She hadn't seen him in two years, and hadn't it been for Milly's disappearance, she really would have looked forward to meeting him again. They hadn't ever had one of those extremely close sibling bonds, but they both knew they could count on the other to help them if the need arose.

Cyrene clenched her hands.

She would find Milly. She would find her for her brother, and bring her back to him.

Cost what it may.


	2. Your job

**There are quite a few names in this chapter, don't worry about remembering them all just yet.  
**

* * *

 **Your job**

Dryfield was a strange place.

Killua didn't know what he had expected it to be like, but this wasn't it.

Driving through the village, taking in the numerous villas scattered along the street, he thought of his own home.

Even though he tried not to think of Kukuroo Mountain as often as he'd used to anymore, from time to time some images would come flooding back. Along with the images came the sensations tied to them; he felt needles prickling his skin, knives carving patterns into his flesh, and poisons running down his throat, burning it.

Sometimes, he felt it as if it was still happening.

As if it had never stopped.

Killua thought of the corridors in the dungeons; cold, clean, and the scent of blood clinging to the stony walls. He thought of the living room – the only room he remembered actually liking - aside from his private room. He thought of the decently friendly atmosphere it had exuded, with Alluka's little dolls' house standing in one corner, and his cherished dart board hanging next to it on the wall.

Everything else in the house had held little meaning for him.

This here, this looked different.

Everything seemed perfectly idyllic. Every house had its own little garden, some of them tended to with more care than others; some were big, while some others were small and overgrown with ivy, roses and weed.

Killua felt as if he could pinpoint exactly what kind of person inhabited which house.

The buildings were painted in white, beige or a light orange, giving off an air of tranquillity, making Killua feel as if he was on vacation rather than a job. There even were a few palm trees planted here and there, the hot and dry weather working in their favour.

There were no giant hounds protecting the entrances, chasing off – and devouring – unsolicited intruders. Everything he saw were fences and murals enclosing the properties.

 _All easily to be overcome,_ he thought absentmindedly, _kidnapping someone would be child's play._

He didn't voice his thoughts, but his trained mind couldn't help analysing every corner of the village, securitizing and cataloguing everything within sight.

"Pull up over there." Cyrene was sitting next to him, and was pointing to a building to their right. He tried to gauge the tone of her voice, but it was carefully levelled, almost meticulously kept under control.

She hadn't said anything for the past hour. Instead, she had gazed out the window absentmindedly, occasionally pricking her fingernails or playing with her hair. Killua had recognized the nervous gestures for what they were, but hadn't said anything. Instead, he'd concentrated on driving the car to their destination safely.

Killua followed Cyrene's line of vision, pulling over where she wanted him to. He stopped the jeep in front of a white villa.

"Wait here." She opened the door on her side, jumped out and walked over to the black fence. Clicking somewhere next to it, Killua assumed it was a microphone, she started talking, after which the fence slowly opened on its own. Cyrene turned around and signalled Killua to drive through. The movements of her hands were stiff, rigid.

There was a garage next to the village, in front of which he stopped the jeep again, turning off the motor.

For a moment, he stayed where he was, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. Knowing the heat that would await him outside, he hesitated just a moment longer, before he jumped outside, locked the car and threw the keys in Cyrene's direction. This earned him a scowl, but at least he'd gotten a reaction out of her.

He felt as if he was standing in the middle of the desert, the sun mercilessly shining down on him. He groaned inwardly, remembering why he didn't like the heat. He just knew his pale skin would hate him for this.

"Hey."

Killua perked up, turning his head. There was a man standing in the doorway of the house. His black hair was tousled, his clothes askew and his posture hunched over.

In spite of his scruffy appearance, the resemblance to Cyrene was undeniable. The same grey eyes he had gotten accustomed to during the past hours were now staring back at him, scrutinizing him, before they moved to fixate Cyrene. The woman stumbled over to her brother, hugging him tightly. He hugged her back, clinging to her black tank top, crinkling it with his fingers. He buried his nose in her hair.

Killua felt like he was intruding, and averted his eyes slightly.

"I didn't know you'd bring a partner," Killua heard the man mumble, his voice muffled. He wanted to lament that no, they were not partners, but he kept silent, knowing it was not the time to be hung up over semantics.

"We are not partners, Milo" Cyrene snorted, as if reading his thoughts, defenestrating Killua's honest attempt at accommodating himself to the subdued mood. "I'd call it a one-time-alliance." She pulled back from Milo, looking into his eyes, her voice getting softer. "How are you feeling?"

He shook his head, distanced himself from his sister and looked at her, a grim expression on his face. He took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"Don't worry," he reassured, squeezing her shoulder, "I'm glad you came." Since Milo had let go of Cyrene, his shoulders had relaxed, and instead of tense, he looked incredibly tired. The bags under his eyes were clearly visible, even from where Killua was standing. "Please come inside." At these words, he nodded in both their directions, including Killua in his offer. Milo tried to flash him a smile, and failed miserably.

Killua made his way over to the door, in passing catching a glimpse of Cyrene's face. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyes staring blankly ahead. He walked past her, leaving her some space to collect her bearings.

He didn't look back to check if she was following, instead stepping into the entrance area of the house.

As soon as he stepped inside, he relished in the cold air the air conditioner provided. Not having anticipated the jarring difference in temperature, he shivered.

If at all possible, the insides of the house looked even more elegant than the outsides.

To the right of the entrance, there was a big living room, furnished with a black sofa, an angular glass table and an old fashioned fireplace on the opposite wall. It was a weird combination, but in some strange way, it worked. Round the corner of the living room, there was an open kitchen with a little bar and a dining table. In front of him was a spiralling staircase, leading upstairs to what he guessed was a bedroom and a bathroom.

"Please take a seat, I'll go get Yana."

Milo disappeared up the stairs without another word, and Killua followed Cyrene into the living room, taking a seat on the sofa next to her. It was comfortable, soft, and he wanted to sink into it and get some rest. For a long time, he just stared ahead, looking at the intricate ornaments on the fireplace, or the detailed paintings adorning the white wall.

Cyrene was sitting next to him, her hands placed in her lap, just as silent. She looked distant and tense, and Killua could swear the air around her felt heavy and smothery.

He decided to break the stifling silence, testing the waters. "You alright?"

Her fingers twitched. "Yeah, it's just too silent without Milly running around, wreaking havoc. She's a little ball of energy."

Her voice wavered, but he chose to ignore it, instead surprising himself by being uncharacteristically positive. "You'll do your best to find her."

"I know," she whispered, "I _will_ find her." Here, Killua narrowed his eyes, some sobering words already on the tip of his tongue, not liking where this was going, when Cyrene continued. "It's the condition I'll find her in that has me worried."

He understood.

 _Images of bloody, long, silver hair flashed before his eyes. Images of a familiar figure trying to bring a lost friend back._

 _Hugging him; again and again._

 _Failing; again and again – but never giving up._

 _He saw blood; blood on the floor, blood on his friend, blood on his friend's hand. His friend's hand; crippled, bloody, dead._

 _He remembered regretting not having been more honest with his doubts, not having addressed the possibility of failure more fiercely._

"You're spacing out."

Killua was yanked out of his thoughts and looked at the source of the voice, grey eyes inspecting him thoroughly.

 _Yes_ , he remembered, _that's in the past. Focus on the present._

Luckily for him, a question directed at him brought him fully back to the present.

"Who is this?"

Killua turned his head, coming face to face with an unfamiliar woman.

She was a mess; even more so than the man who was now standing beside his wife, touching her hand with his. Bloodshot eyes had lost the shine they must have once possessed; long, blond hair was hanging down her back, greasy and unkempt.

In short; Yana Amianth was looking like a walking corpse.

Cyrene stood up, walked over to her and touched her shoulder. "He's here to help." She glanced over at him, before looking back at Yana. "I'll do my best to find Milly," she repeated his words from earlier, the corners of her mouth twitching, "I swear."

Then, she straightened her shoulders a bit, taking a deep breath. "I need to ask you two some questions. The faster we find her, the better."

"You should rest first, sleep for a few hours."

Killua stretched his back, his blue eyes narrowing.

Yana seemed startled as well. She faced her husband, eyes widening slightly. Then, she clenched her hands and raised her voice just enough to indicate her dissatisfaction with the plan. "I'm with Cyrene. We have to find her. Now."

Milo closed his eyes, pressing them together too strongly for it to seem natural. "I know, I know." He sat down onto the sofa, rubbing his eyes, sighing, and Killua felt a tinge of sympathy for this family whose life was falling apart before his eyes. "Damnit, I want to find her too," he bit out, his voice breaking at the end, "But they have to rest, or they will make it harder for themselves. They shouldn't be overfatigued."

"Milly is our daughter!" Yana screeched, gripping his shoulder. Cyrene lifted her hand, opening her mouth, but Yana continued without pause. "How can you say something like that? She is our _daughter_ and she is gone! Milo, Milly is gone!" Her voice broke, and she hugged herself, audibly biting back a sob. "My baby is gone." She sunk to the floor, resting her elbows on her knees, covering her forehead with both hands.

"And Cyrene is my sister," he croaked, standing up. His eyes were glazed over, and Killua could see his resolve crumble. Milo crouched down beside his wife and laid a tanned hand onto her trembling shoulder. "I don't want her to collapse. Look at her and tell me she's fit enough to start investigating now. She's prone to overwork herself; I don't want to lose her, too."

"I'm sorry," Yana whimpered, "I'm so sorry, but I want my baby girl back." Yana sought Cyrene's and Killua's eyes, her face wet with teas. "Please."

Next to Killua, Cyrene swallowed heavily. When she spoke, she was calm, but the tone of her voice left no room for argument. "I can do it, Milo. I would never forgive myself if something happened to Milly because I was sleeping happily in a warm, safe bed. I cannot just wait and do nothing. We'll take action now."

Milo looked as if he wanted to argue, but Cyrene beat him to the punch.

"I might be your little sister, but the time you had to protect me has long passed. Hell, you moved away when I turned eighteen," she didn't sound angry, but Milo flinched anyway, averting his eyes. "I'm twenty-three, I'm a Hunter, and I'll search for Milly _right now_ , not later."

Milo swallowed. Cyrene took advantage of the moment he was wavering, and pointed at the sofa, a stern look on her face. "So sit the hell down and tell me what happened."

For a moment, he hesitated, staring at his sister. She had her hands clenched into fists, and her stance was confident and unforgiving, but Killua could see a tang of vulnerability in the way her eyes were avoiding his gaze, and the way her fingers were digging into her flesh too hard. Milo must have seen the same, because shortly after, he stood up.

"Okay," he breathed, "We'll – we'll tell you what we know."

Cyrene let her shoulders sag, and let herself fall back onto the sofa. Running her hands over her face, she sighed. "Good. That's good."

The tall man sat down beside his sister, and looked at his wife with a weak smile. Yana picked herself up from the floor and sat down in an armchair.

Out of the pocket of her pants, Cyrene took a pen and a piece of paper, ready to write everything down.

Killua steeled himself, knowing the next few days would be tough.

* * *

The next morning, Killua was sitting at the desk in Yana's office, looking over the information they had received from the married couple.

The room was a confusing mess; papers lying around everywhere, pens scattered across the table and the family portrait on the far left flipped over. In front of him was a picture of Milly, holding a little plush horse, hugging it tightly to her chest. Her fair hair had been plaited into two braids, and her green eyes were sparkling with joy, gazing up at the person holding the camera in wonder.

The only thing they knew was that this little girl went missing. She had never come home from school, with no trace of her whereabouts whatsoever.

Then there were the other disappearances.

He moved the photo to the side, consulting another paper.

First on the list of missing people was an old man, followed by three other adults. Milo and Yana hadn't been able to tell them much about them, just what they had read in the newspaper and heard from the police.

No matter how and from which angle he looked at it; as of now, there were no common characteristics connecting the victims; female and male, single and married, old and jarringly young.

Madeleine Bonnay was the oldest victim at eighty-two. She had been a lawyer all her life, was married and had two children. Next was Oscar Hecket; sixty-seven, married also, working in retail business. The third victim was a woman named Alayah Davidsen, forty-five and single, freelance artist. The last two were twenty-year-old Samuel Hajek, liaised and student - and Milly.

Killua heard the door behind him open and saw Cyrene stepping in, two cups of steaming hot coffee in her hands. When she saw the state the office was in, she paused for a moment, letting her eyes sweep across the room. "She's completely beside herself."

Killua didn't think he needed to comment on that, it was clear Yana was losing her mind. He was also still hung up on Milo. His reaction had taken him by surprise. Milo was clearly shaken up, but worrying about Cyrene first while his daughter was missing was incredibly strange to him.

On some level, he understood the man. He saw Alluka's face before his eyes, smiling brightly, and he knew he'd never let his sister hurt herself out of carelessness. But he also knew how much most parents cared about their children, and there was a fine line between worrying about ones sister and taking unreasonable decisions.

He'd keep silent about it for the moment, but he'd keep it in mind – there was definitely more to be known.

Cyrene put one cup onto the table in front of him, startling him slightly, and enclosed the other one with her hands. "Did you find anything?"

"Nothing," he confessed, taking a sip. The beverage nearly scalded his tongue, but the bitterness of it woke him up, giving him some much needed energy back. "They have absolutely nothing in common. I'm starting to doubt they fell victim to the same person."

"That's ridiculous," Cyrene blurted out. "There haven't been any criminal activities of this kind in this village for decades, and now this? There's no way in hell this isn't connected."

Killua turned his rolling chair around and clicked his tongue. "Principally, I agree. However, I'm still confused at the moment, and, to be honest, rather lost." He tapped his finger onto the first name on the list of missing people. "Madeleine Bonnay, eighty-two; she was the first victim. I don't see how one goes from abducting retirees to abducting seven-year-olds."

"We've only just started," Cyrene mumbled, "of course we're still confused."

There was a beat of silence.

"None of them turned up dead yet." She said it as if to remind herself of the fact, as if she was seeking some sort of comfort and reassurance – which was understandable, but still dangerous.

Killua saw the hopeful look blooming in her eyes.

"Just because they weren't found dead doesn't mean they are still alive."

She brushed the comment off, the only indication she had heard it was the way the features of her face hardened. "Where do we start?"

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Why are you asking me? This is _your_ job; I'm just tagging along."

Blinking, she looked at him, searching his face for something. For what, he didn't know. Then, she leaned her back against the closed door behind her. "Talking to everyone who is somehow involved in this is always a good starting point."

"Makes sense." He leaned back in his chair. "Where do you want to start?"

Cyrene was silent for a moment, before she answered. "I'd like to start with Milly's teacher."

At first, this surprised him. But then he caught on, remembering that the girl had somehow vanished on her way back from school. He nodded. "Good idea."

She glanced at him from under her lashes, as if she was afraid to face him head on. "You don't have to do this."

"What do you mean?"

"Tagging along with me."

"See, that's where you are wrong," he said, and crossed his arms in front of his chest, "I made a promise to my sister. I'm not going to break that. You're obviously important to her, which means you are basically stuck with me until this mess is cleared up."

She emptied her cup, answering curtly. "I see."

There was a strange silence in the room, making Killua want to say something. Not knowing what to say, he stayed silent instead, looking over the paper in front of him again and again, until he would've been able to recite it by heart.

It just didn't make any sense. Not yet, anyway.

He breathed out an inaudible sigh of relief when Cyrene finally turned around to open the door.

"Let's do this."

Pocketing the photo and the little information they had, he followed her, and he couldn't help but wonder what he'd gotten himself into _this_ time.


	3. Digging up pains of the past

**Digging up pains of the past**

They drove up the hill, nearing the boarding school at the edge of the village. Killua took in the scenery surrounding him; the endless fields stretching out in all four cardinal directions, the meadows strewn with buttercups, dandelions and daisies; the grass sprouting in lush green. In the distance, mountains pierced the murky sky.

When he faced forward, the school building with its reddish walls and crumbling façade stood in front of him.

His eyes roamed the falling apart benches and the swing set, and he imagined children laughing, shrieking, stumbling around and pushing each other down the green slide.

For a moment, Killua wondered _what if_ ; what if he'd went someplace like that; to study, to grow on his own and paint his own future with an unblemished brush. To meet people his age and chase away bullies for his younger sister.

He felt a sudden wave of coldness wash over him. A trail of goosebumps was left coating the skin on his neck, and his fingers felt ice cold and rigid.

He tensed his jaw and hit the brakes harder than intended. The car halted with a flounce, throwing his upper body forward. The seatbelt cut into the flesh of his naked shoulder.

Closing his eyes, he took a ragged breath.

Cyrene glanced at him. She loosened her own seatbelt by yanking it away from her body, leaving red welts behind.

Killua turned off the motor and applied the handbrake, letting his hand rest on the lever for a while. A few voluminous clouds had started accumulating on the sky above them, occluding the sun almost entirely, announcing a break in the weather.

He pulled out the keys and grabbed the door handle.

The scent of freshly mowed grass hit his nose as he stepped outside, and the left-over heat radiating off the ground engulfed him. He set foot outside just in time to see the first raindrop hit the ground. It left behind a dark dot, soon followed by more of its kind. A subtle breeze ruffled his hair, and he indulged in the soothing feeling.

"Let's hurry, or we'll be soaked in no time." Cyrene rushed past him, her ragged jean jacket held over her head, a little panda key pendant dangling from it. Killua followed her, absentmindedly wondering why she'd brought along a jacket when it neared thirty-three degrees outside.

Throwing open two big doors, they entered the school building. Killua caught a cold whiff of granite, paper and bitter cleaning agent. It burned in his nose, and he wondered if this was how schools were supposed to smell.

He heard the door slam shut behind him, and saw a long corridor stretching out in front of him, shafts strung together on both sides. The lights were still out, just the windows let in the dimmed daylight.

Cyrene's footsteps were echoing loudly, producing a steady rhythm. He had fun trying to match his own footsteps with hers; putting his foot down just as the _clank_ of her shoes reached his ears.

It was a nice distraction. It prevented the coldness from coming back.

"Do you know where to go?" Killua asked, breaking the silence. He recoiled at how loud his voice bounced off the walls.

"No." She sounded hoarser than usual, the soft edge to her voice drowned out by her croaking. "We'll probably find someone when we find the staff room."

Said staff room was more comfortable than the hallways, Killua decided.

As soon as the door opened, the scent of coffee and bread greeted him. Instead of the cold atmosphere the corridors exuded, there was calmness to this room. Bars of chocolate, various cookies and an assortment of fruits lay on top of the wooden table in the middle of the room, and two windows revealed the schoolyard below. Outside, the sun had disappeared behind the clouds.

A man stood opposite of him, the brown linoleum floor squeaking beneath his foot as he slowly moved to the side to let them in.

"Can I help you with something?"

"Yes." Killua remembered Cyrene's babbling throughout their drive to Dryfield, and was startled at how terse she was.

"Alright, please come in." The teacher moved his hand invitingly, but Cyrene gripped the doorframe and pointed over her shoulder.

"I want to have this conversation in your classroom," she demanded. The teacher flinched. Cyrene stepped back a few inches, giving him more space. Her voice softened. "Are you Mr. Jae Sanna?"

His eyes widened. "Y-Yes, I am." His own words tripped him. Mr. Sanna cleared his throat and moved outside, but kept away from them like a child would from a stranger. "Let's just – let's go to my classroom. Yes." With shaking fingers, he fished for the keys in his pockets, turned around and closed the door behind him. It took him a few turns to hit the keyhole, and Killua was unsure whether to laugh or to feel sympathy. "You're here because of little Milly, I reckon?"

Cyrene faltered. "We are. How do you know?"

"You reek of barely held back rage and resentment."

"And you reek of suspiciousness." The bite in her voice was razor-sharp.

Mr. Sanna stopped in his tracks. He faced them and crumpled up the olive green shirt between his fingers. It was frazzled and riddled with holes on its hems. "I'm sick and tired of being accused of this. Milly is a lovable child. I respect and appreciate all my pupils."

Cyrene leaned forward, and Mr. Sanna shrunk back. "Who were you accused by?"

"The police, who else?" he grumbled.

"They already informed the police?" Killua chimed in. "Is that wise?"

"Kidnappings are criminal offences liable to public prosecution. In short; the police is obligated to start investigations immediately," Cyrene supplied, while her eyes never left Mr. Sanna's face. "Though, most of the time, they make matters worse by cluing suspects in on the fact that they are, in fact, suspects."

Killua raised an eyebrow. "Can't you put a stop to that with your Hunter's license?"

"Huh," she mumbled, "I actually never tried that."

Mr. Sanna froze. "You're Hunters?"

Cyrene blinked. "Just take us to your classroom."

"I may be a suspect but that doesn't make me a criminal." His voice had gotten steadier, and he'd actually managed to convey something akin to determination with it.

"It doesn't," Cyrene concurred, "just as being unsuspicious doesn't make anyone an innocent."

Mr. Sanna stopped in front of a door, fumbling with his keys. Killua noticed how he forcefully tensed his fingers to ease the trembles. His shoulders were hunched over; it looked as if he wanted to melt into the walls and disappear from sight. The old door opened with a squeak, inviting them into a bright room decorated with children's drawings and racks filled with colourful books.

"What do you want to know?" Mr. Sanna sounded impatient, his voice wavering. He closed the door behind him and leaned against the teacher's desk.

"Where did Milly go after school last Monday?"

"I sent her home, like every day." He gritted his teeth. "I don't know what happened from there, but she left this building safe and sound. That, I promise."

Cyrene scribbled something down on a piece of paper. Killua wasn't able to read it from where he stood, but judging by how fast her fingers moved, it couldn't have been anything legible. "Did you notice any suspicious persons on the school ground that day?"

Mr. Sanna rubbed his eyes with a sigh, closing them. "No."

Cyrene shot Killua a look, moving her head in a demanding manner. He wanted to ask what was wrong, or tell her off for being commanding; but then he understood the invitation to go rummage through the classroom – an invitation gladly taken.

 _So that's why she wanted to talk here. Well, let's look around._

Killua turned around and took in the room; he didn't even know where to start. It wasn't big by any means, but it was jammed to the point of bursting. Walking in between the twenty-two desks, he inspected the cases on top of each one, reading the nametags glued or embroidered onto them. When he found Milly's name on a pink and yellow case, he stopped. Killua threw a look in Mr. Sanna's direction. The man was watching him with dismay, but didn't say anything.

Killua let his fingers glide over the surface of the desk, the scratches on the wood feeling rough to his skin. He crouched down. As he looked inside the desk, he sneaked a peak at Milly's notebooks. There were four of them, and he was quickly getting enthralled by the drawings inside them; depicting stickmen, houses and something he recognized as a horse. He found himself smiling, wondering just how much this girl had been doodling into her notebooks when she'd been supposed to pay attention. Killua stood, shook his head and moved on to the next place.

The most striking feature of the classroom existed in the form of dozens of children's drawings on the wall. Some of them were colourful and wild, while some of them were minimalistic and difficult to make out. Several of them carried Milly's name; among them a portrait of assumedly herself, a sunset and, again, the same brown horse as in the notebook. It sported an oversized head with big black doe eyes and an unruly mane. It had been coloured rather vigorously and messily, the strokes crossing the outlines on numerous spots. Killua saw the passion behind that drawing.

He broke away from the wall and made his way over to a little dresser filled to the brim with all kinds of crayons and scissors.

There was still a long way to go, and he intended to look into every nook and cranny.

* * *

Later that day, Killua and Cyrene sat at a table on the veranda of a little Café, Cyrene's notes laying scattered in between them. The waitress had already thrown a questioning gaze in their direction, but neither he nor she cared enough to put them away.

Cyrene had sunken into herself, eyes barely staying open against the sun. Killua didn't know if she was lost in thought or almost falling asleep, but he took the time to drink his coffee, hoping against all odds that the sun shining down onto his neck wouldn't leave him with a bad sunburn. He'd had enough of those. Not far off to his right, the sea was rushing; its waves reaching the beach before withdrawing back into the ocean. Killua enjoyed the soothing sound, almost jumping out of his seat when Cyrene raised her voice.

"That didn't really help us, he claims innocence and doesn't know a single thing." He looked up and saw her stirring the insides of her cup dejectedly. "Great start."

"That was the first suspect we interviewed. You said it yourself, didn't you? It's only natural we're still confused at this stage."

She gave him a weak smile. "True. But I haven't been this invested in a case in a while, so there's that."

Killua wanted to ask what the last case she'd been invested in had been, but held back for reasons he couldn't describe. Maybe it was the look on her face. "Fair enough." Instead, he leaned over the table and snatched a piece of paper. He'd been curious about her notes ever since he'd seen her scribbling them down. She'd summarised what she'd written down, but he hadn't had the chance to actually look at them yet. As he took the piece of paper, Cyrene raised a questioning eyebrow. Killua inspected her words for a moment, before his eyes widened in wonder. "How can you read that? It looks as if a five year old wrote it, and even that's stretching it."

"Oh, shut up." Cyrene leaned over and yanked the paper out of his hands, slamming it back onto the table. She looked at it for a moment, and flicked her fingers. "Right! I completely forgot. Did you find anything? I mean you practically turned the whole place upside down. I don't think I've ever seen anybody search a place that thoroughly."

Killua shook his head. "Nope, although it _was_ quite interesting."

Cyrene looked disappointed for a moment, but then she perked up. "Were you home-schooled?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I guess you could say that." Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Cyrene swallow forcefully. "You probably know my background, so why do you ask?"

"It's because I know that I ask," she explained. "I didn't mean to bring up unpleasant memories, I was just curious." She sounded tentative now, as if she knew she was treading on unsteady ground.

But Killua only smirked. "These memories are not unpleasant. I had happy times, too, you know? It's not all darkness and sadness. I actually liked 'going to school'." He saw his teacher's kind, blue eyes, and his warm smile flash before his eyes. But he also saw the mess on his desk, the interconnected shoelaces and the _needles on his chair._ "We did give him a hard time, though."

Cyrene stifled a laugh. "You were a troublemaker?"

"Always was, always will be."

There was a beat of silence. Cyrene's smile faltered.

"That's… that's probably a good thing."

The words surprised him, and he paused for a moment, thinking them over. Looking down at his white forearms, bare of bruises, hearing the sea in the background, and seeing one of Alluka's numerous friends sitting opposite of him, he found himself agreeing. "Yeah. Yeah, it's defenitely a good thing."

* * *

Dinner that evening was a peculiar affair.

It wasn't the food, because Milo was a splendid cook. The marinated turkey along with the baked potatoes and cooked carrots on the side was nothing to scoff at, and Killua enjoyed it thoroughly, letting the spicy flavour explode and spread throughout his mouth.

It was the best he'd eaten in weeks, living off of oven-ready meals and mixed snacks most of the time. If Alluka saw him now, she'd jump around and celebrate his brother eating something healthy for once, without her being there to prepare something for him.

The thought of his sister made him regret not having spent more time with her before leaving for the mission.

But no, it wasn't the food.

What threw him off was Yana sitting at the table with crossed arms, not even touching her plate, and Milo looking as pained eating his share as if he'd a knife sticking out of his throat. Cyrene was seated next to him, nibbling on her food while watching her extended family closely. It made Killua wonder how they got along in happier times. He wasn't anyone to judge family dynamics, but it held a strong fascination for him, and he liked to speculate about it.

He remembered a few evenings he and his family, from grandpa Zeno to Kalluto, had all sat on one table, enjoying a meal together. And even those evenings had been merrier and chattier than the scene playing out in front of him.

This fascinated him, and it made him wish those evenings with his family would've been more numerous. But Ilumi tended to be away on jobs – thank god -, Alluka had been locked away in her room, and Zeno preferred to dine by himself.

After minutes of silence, Cyrene put her fork down with a _clank,_ startling everybody around the table. "Okay, this has been going on all evening. What's wrong?"

It might have been a silly question to ask, considering the situation, but Killua understood.

The atmosphere was not filled with sadness and hopelessness only – there was a spark of anger swirling around. And if Killua recognized any emotion at all times; it was anger. Anger, disappointment and double-edged pride.

Yana bit her lips, her eyes pained. "We just had a disagreement, that's all."

"I get that you're stressed," Cyrene sympathized, "but if you want this to work, we need to pull on one string."

Yana lifted her head and threw her a glare. "Easy for you to say, since you work alone." She stayed tensed for a moment, before she held her breath, lowered her head and whispered, "I'm sorry."

"I know you are." Cyrene hesitated for a moment. Then, she stood; the food on her plate forgotten. "I'd like to talk to you for a moment."

Yana looked at her again, the fire in her eyes gone. She nodded and followed Cyrene out of the room quietly, leaving Killua sitting alone at the table with Milo, who'd stayed silent throughout it all. Killua moved a piece of potato around on his plate, fixating him with an inquisitive stare. The man sighed, leaning back in his chair. The gesture seemed capitulating, as if he'd laid down his last defence.

"The way your face just contorted tells me you're feeling guilty."

Milo shrugged his shoulders, and he looked like a child doing it. "I don't know. I shouldn't feel guilty, but I kind of do, anyway."

"Care telling me what's going on? You all seem to be in on it."

Milo stayed silent.

"Look, I don't want to be rude, but I want this to be over as soon as possible – and I know you do, too. Unnecessary disputes just lead to an equally unnecessary delay in investigations."

"You sound like my sister already."

Killua made a face; the comment caught him off guard and seemed utterly wrong to him on top of it. "Not my intention. Believe it or not, I've known her for a short while only – not long enough to adapt mannerisms, let alone character traits."

"So, how come you're working together?" Milo leaned forward in his chair, propping his elbows onto the table, a curious look on his face.

The expression in Milo's eyes reminded Killua of Gon, and he had to do a double take. "For my sister's sake." As the image of Alluka flashed before his eyes, a fond smile found its way on his lips. He wondered where she was – if she was dying of worry or if she had gone back to working. He'd long promised her to visit her at the school, and she had been happy beyond reason hearing it, jumping around like an exited puppy.

 _I really need to call her._

"You have a sister?"

"Three brothers, too."

"Wow." He really sounded impressed.

"Is that surprising?"

Milo shrugged his shoulders. He seemed absent, staring somewhere behind Killua with unfocused eyes. The way his hands lay relaxed on the table seemed unnaturally staged, and the way he worried his bottom lip told a story on its own. "That's a lot of siblings," he eventually just said, but paused abruptly, as if he'd wanted to add something, but couldn't. Killua waited, digging up his patient side. Then, finally, Milo took a breath. "We had a little sister, Cyrene and I."

Killua said nothing, but the use of past tense hadn't escaped him. Tapping his finger silently onto the table cloth, he waited for Milo to continue, but the man clammed up, forcing him to press the issue. "What happened?"

Milo stared at his hands while they massaged each other nervously. "We don't know, she just… disappeared."

"She disappeared?"

Milo nodded.

Killua gulped; an idea rushing into his mind. "… Like Milly?"

Another nod, stiff and robotic.

They both didn't speak a word, until Milo broke the silence. "It's why Cyrene took up being a Hunter. I couldn't have done it, but she was determined to take action herself. In the end, it was of no use."

Killua had dozens of questions swirling around in his mind, but he didn't dare voice any of them. Milo looked as if he'd break down any second. He looked like a picture of misery, sunken in and hunched over. If Killua had had to put a name on it, he would've called it a position showing tremendous _guilt_.

He didn't have time to ponder on it, because the two women re-entered the room, Cyrene's hand laying on Yana's shoulder in a supporting manner. The blond woman looked calmer, but also more tired than ever. She broke free of Cyrene's hold and, not uttering a single word, embraced her husband from behind, placing a kiss on his cheek. If Killua had had to put a name on _that,_ he would've called it a gesture showing undying love and acceptance.

* * *

The next morning was calmer, and a peaceful atmosphere had re-emerged in the houshold. Cyrene and Killua sat in Yana's office - having it made their 'base' - silently sipping a cup of coffee, preparing for the day. They'd looked up dozens of names and addresses the day prior, and were now organizing them in a sensible fashion to process them afterwards. Cyrene would've been happy to enjoy the silence while working, but something - someone - was bound to break it.

"Is this your sister?"

Like a startled bird, she broke away from the notes she was reading. The question shook her like an electric current; made her hairs stand on end and her fingers itch to grab and choke someone. Killua was pointing at a little framed picture hanging on the wall, in its centre a young, black-haired girl, smiling as if the world belonged to her.

"I thought it was you until yesterday, so I didn't ask."

She tried to answer, but the words got stuck in her throat. All she could think of was _breathe, answer - say something!_ Killua turned around and fixated her with a piercing gaze. "Milo told me, yesterday evening."

Cyrene forced her lips to move. "I see. Yes, that's her."

Killua's eyes softened, as did his posture. He placed his hands into his pockets, and Cyrene saw them forming into fists. "What was her name?"

Saying the name out loud felt like running daggers through her heart. "Najla. And she's not dead." Cyrene stopped, reconsidering. "At least I hope so."

"You still haven't given up."

"Of course not. She's my sister. You of all people should understand why I can't give up." How could she? How could she give up on her little sister? She saw Najla's smile as clearly as ever, the little girl standing in front of her, proudly showing off whatever she'd made in school that day, bursting with excitement for whatever Cyrene and Milo had prepared for her birthday, laughing and smiling when she hugged her, pressing her against her chest. How could she ever give up?

She bit her tongue as she admitted to herself that the futility of her endeavor became clearer with every year, and that thoughts of ' _It's of no use'_ and ' _I should give up already'_ got more frequent with every wall she ran into.

"Alluka told you a lot about me, didn't she?" Cyrene flinched harshly, and looked at Killua with wide eyes. A dismayed expression formed on his face, and Cyrene found herself smiling, albeit forcedly.

"You're an idiot." She heard him gasp in offence, and rushed to add, "Your love for each other shows on your faces whenever you think about each other. The way she speaks about you is just a bonus." Looking at the picture, Cyrene felt warmth spread throughout her chest. "The fact that the picture is hanging here really shows how much Yana cares, despite the fights they get into."

"What do you mean?"

"He told you about Najla but not about why they fought?"

"We kind of got off topic," he murmured, and if her eyes didn't deceive her, she saw an ounce of disappointment on his face. As if he was berating himself for getting distracted. Milo had a talent to go off on tangents and carry people off alongside him.

Cyrene sighed heavily, and ran her fingers through her hair. She wasn't keen on digging up that particular issue, but she didn't want Killua to stay in the dark, either. "After Najla disappeared, we both dealt with it in our own way. Milo putting everything into not letting it happen again, and me trying to undo it. Those two things don't mix well together."

She thought about how Milo had protested her becoming a Hunter, saying it was too dangerous. But she also remembered the hope displaying on his face – well hidden, but still there.

"What does this have to do with Yana?"

"She misinterprets his overprotectiveness towards me."

Killua grimaced. "She thinks he doesn't care about Milly enough."

"Bingo. She thinks he's overdoing it." Cyrene grimaced also. "Which, sadly, is kind of true."

"Hmm."

They both stared at the picture for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. When Cyrene thought the topic was over, wanting to move on, Killua raised his voice. And what he said didn't surprise Cyrene in the slightest.

"I think," he whispered, "I kind of understand him."


	4. Clues and contradictions

**So, I'm alive. Surprise?**

 **I had too much personal stuff going on that kind of prevented me from really being able to write. I've had this chapter sitting on my laptop for ages and now finally feel comfortable uploading it. I'll try to get back on track! Unlike my other story, this one is all planned out and just needs to be written down. So yeah.** _ **New Perspectives**_ **is on hiatus for an undecided time. I regret to tell you I've lost interest in that story, because I've written myself into a corner. Bleh. So have this instead. I've read through it but there might be mistakes, I just wanted to upload** _ **something**_ **.**

* * *

 **Clues and contradictions**

"I think it'd make sense to start investigating the first disappearance before we do anything else. Start at the beginning, you know?"

Cyrene looked up from where she sat at the kitchen table. Bread, cheese, orange juice and milk lay spread out in front of her, looking fresh and appealing. Her brother had always been appreciative of good food, and breakfast was no exception. When she'd woken up with a knot in her stomach that morning, Milo had sat her down, rummaged in the fridge, banged a plate onto the table and had demanded she eat something.

The voice speaking to her now was soothing, calm and possessed an undertone of professionalism she'd come to associate with Killua. The man sat opposite of her, his eyes glued to the newspaper lying next to his plate, his fingers absentmindedly fumbling with the honey jar.

He'd been struggling with it for a while, and she wondered when he'd realise he needed to tear off the tape before opening the lid.

The commotion with her brother earlier must've woken Killua up, because he'd stumbled into the kitchen seconds after Milo had left in a hurry to follow his wife's call into the living room.

Thinking back to it had her supressing a smile; he'd stumbled into the kitchen. Killua Zoldyck, master ex-assassin and professional Hunter had _stumbled_ into her kitchen like a clumsy toddler on unsteady feet. She'd expected anything from him, but not something she felt tempted to _coo_ at.

The meaning of his words didn't register with her immediately, her mind still foggy and dazed with sleep – or lack, thereof. She gulped down a piece of toast and grabbed her mug of coffee.

A strand of black hair fell into her face, and she furiously tucked it behind her ear.

Cyrene knew she most likely looked as if she'd crawled straight out of a horror movie with her white, loose nightgown, a thatch of messy dark hair and bloodshot, zombie-like eyes.

Had she been more awake, she would've rushed to fix her appearance to something more presentable, but as it was, she was preoccupied with staying awake at all.

Keeping her eyes open burned, and her body felt heavy and sluggish. The thought of crawling back into a soft bed, wrapping the cool blanket around her body while burying her head in a fluffy pillow seemed utterly appealing.

Only the images of Milly flashing before her eyes kept her from following through with it.

The memory of the girl made her feel a stabbing pain in her abdomen. Shaking her head, she tried to stifle the nervousness and fear gripping and twisting her insides.

The night had been restless. Plagued by imaging various wort-case-scenarios, she'd lain awake, tossing and turning until she'd fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion.

Now, the tiredness stuck to her body like a heavy, hot blanket she couldn't shrug off.

She blinked, looked at Killua over the rim of her mug and focused on his face, suddenly remembering he'd said something.

Slowly, Cyrene leaned back in her chair and ran her hands over her face in an attempt to wake her numb facial muscles up. She longed for a splash of cold water. "What do you mean? I mean, I know what you mean, but why?"

 _I'm rambling. I really_ am _tired. Crap._

"Why should we waste time with that? We need to find Milly."

Killua looked up from the newspaper and raised an eyebrow. Cyrene pulled a face, realizing she came across like both an idiot and a heartless person.

Not commenting on it, Killua shrugged his shoulders, finally put the honey jar onto the table and grabbed the toast on his plate. His eyes were focused and perceptive. "We started with Milly's teacher yesterday – and I can understand that, but solving those other cases could ultimately lead us to your niece. You said so yourself; the possibility that all of this is connected is pretty damn high, and that means starting with the first victim would be the most logical thing to do."

 _My niece…_

It hurt.

Hearing that word _hurt_.

Sometimes, the reality of Milly being her _niece_ , her brother's little girl, her family, wasn't present in her mind.

Thinking of her brother left her with a headache, so she pushed the thought aside.

"Maybe." A loud _clank_ resounded in the kitchen as she put down her cup with a little too much force. Watching as the coffee almost slopped over, she said, "But maybe that'd be wasting precious time. I feel sorry for all those other people, I really do, but Milly is my priority. No ifs, no buts."

"Then how do you intend to find her? Do you have any more clues or suspects or possible witnesses or _anything_ , other than her teacher?" While his words were harsh, his voice was laced with genuine curiosity.

Wetting her lips, Cyrene shook her head. "Not at the moment. I don't have any idea on how to proceed from here, to be honest." She sighed. "There's just nothing to go from. Nothing. She's a little girl – she has no enemies, for god's sake. She should be home and safe."

"But she's not," Killua pressed, "and investigating those other disappearances _might_ take us closer to finding Milly." Cyrene opened her mouth to respond, but Killua continued in a levelled, strong voice. "Or it _might_ lead to nothing – but then at least you tried and did everything you could."

She tapped her fingers onto the table, not saying anything. Killua let out an almost inaudible sigh and took a bite out of his toast. He immediately grimaced, apparently realizing he'd forgotten about the honey. "Just think about it." He swallowed. "I mean, it's your case; I'm not trying to force you to do anything. I'm just telling you what I think, that's all."

"I know you're right," Cyrene said, and there was not a shred of doubt in her mind that he _was_ , but sometimes, doing the right thing proved to be difficult. She wanted to find what was important to her, as fast as possible, and the thought of having to make a detour didn't sit well with her.

There was a pause, before Cyrene grabbed her cup and took a gulp of coffee. The searing hot beverage burned her throat and woke her up.

"I'll let you take care of Mr. Bonnay, his wife was the first victim. I'll tackle Mrs. Hecket; her husband was the second one to disappear. We'll compile what we find afterward, same café as last time."

"You trust me to go and investigate on my own?"

"Is there a reason for me not to trust you?"

"…No."

She smiled weakly. "Well, there you have it."

The corners of his lips twitched as he took another bite of his breakfast.

Cyrene bit her lip. Somehow, that little twitch - that couldn't even be called a smile - was the most genuinely happy she'd seen him since they'd parted with Alluka and Gon.

She'd seen fond smiles when they'd talked about his sister, but he'd never looked at _her_ with an expression similar to it. Warmth replaced the coldness in her stomach. It felt like an accomplishment.

* * *

Killua was used to finding people, to tracking people and to assassinating people. Sneaking up on an unsuspecting target, finding their weak point and ending their life was easy to do.

He remembered Illumi telling him one day that these things were in his blood; that they came naturally to him. As a five-year-old child, he'd nodded his head with vigour at these words, enthusiastic about the notion of being talented at something his parents and siblings valued. This innocent excitement had disappeared soon, leaving a cold numbness and apathy in its place whenever new, warm blood had stuck to his hands.

Still; tracking and killing he could do, it was deeply ingrained in him. Deeper than he cared to admit.

Interrogating people was a different story.

As an assassin, interrogating was of no use. Assassins killed their targets, no ifs or buts. They didn't need a reason. All they needed was a client with enough money to pay for their services.

Mr. Bonnay looked as if he'd been able to afford any assassin he could've wanted.

The shirt he wore was made out of pure silk, shining in the brightly lit living room. It was buttoned up to his throat, topped off with a black tie. His nimble fingers fumbled with the fabric of his trousers as he went on about his wife, their wedding, and their honeymoon.

The words fell from the old man's lips as if a dam had been broken, and Killua nodded his head from time to time, humming to show he was listening. But his patience was wearing thin. Numerous times, he'd debated on whether interrupting the man would be heartless.

Cyrene had driven to the countryside to interrogate Mrs. Hecket, and she wouldn't be back for a while, so time wasn't an issue. Before she'd shut the door of her jeep, she'd hammered home that Killua was to be thorough and not miss anything. As if he hadn't known that. Jeez.

 _So I guess I'll sit it out._

"I love her so, so much. I can't believe I've lost her like that. It's breaking my heart. I just want to find her."

Killua nodded his head in understanding, for the umpteenth time, trying to look genuine. It wasn't that he didn't care, but he wanted to cut to the case and collect useful information.

"I'm sorry." The break in the steady stream of words directed Killua's attention back to the present. Mr. Bonnay looked at him, a tired and apologetic smile on his lips. It made him look older. "I must be boring you."

Killua shook his head in an attempt to assure the man otherwise, leaned forward and propped his elbows onto his knees. Mr. Bonnay held his gaze. "We're trying to find out what happened, and we're doing our best, " he said, his voice even and matter-of-factly, "that's why I need as much information as you can provide – and as detailed as possible. I'm aware that you loved your wife, but it won't help me find her. Can you tell me something you think might be important?"

Mr. Bonnay pulled a face, and leaned back in his seat, looking like a petulant child all of a sudden. "The police have been on the case for weeks on end, and they've found nothing. They've interrogated me, interrogated the neighbours… "

Killua smirked. "Well, as a Hunter, I have a lot more up my sleeve than some measly police officer who has to follow proper protocol and rules."

He left the implications behind that statement hang in the air, but Mr. Bonnay seemed to catch on quickly. The old man raised an eyebrow, looking Killua up and down.

"What do you mean? Are you telling me you want to go against the law?"

Killua stayed silent for a moment, aware he needed to proceed with caution. Scaring the man off would only complicate things and hinder him. "I do have a license to do whatever I want without having to expect any consequences – as long as I'm not crossing certain boundaries, that is."

Mr. Bonnay tapped his finger nervously on his knee. The gesture reminded Killua of Cyrene, and he wondered when he'd started to observe and catalogue her mannerisms.

Then, the man nodded and stood, his lips pressed into a tight line, resembling the scrawny lips of Killua's mother. "Come on, I want to show you something."

Killua hesitated shortly before he stood as well, following the man through the living room into another, smaller room.

A broad table stood in the middle of it, papers and pens neatly arranged on top of it, a picture frame made out of dark wood on the far end. The room was the complete opposite of Yana's study.

Mr. Bonnay crouched down and opened the bottom left drawer, pulling out a yellowed envelope.

He looked at it for a moment, turned it around in his hands, and finally handed it over to Killua. A fond look had creeped onto his face. Killua sent him a questioning gaze, but when the man nodded, he ripped the envelope open and pulled out two familiar cards.

Hunter licenses.

His mouth fell open. "Are you…?"

"I _was_ ," Mr. Bonnay said hastily. "As was my wife. We've laid down our office many years ago, if a Hunter is even _able_ to lay down their office."

Killua turned the licenses around in his hand; they looked old, worn out. "Have you investigated the disappearance of your wife yourself?"

Mr. Bonnay shook his head. "I tried, but I'm old, Killua. I'll leave this to the next generation. I just thought you should know about this."

"Weren't you concerned?"

The question earned him a withering glance, and he apologized.

"What do you think? Of course I'm concerned. But I know she's alive." He smiled wanly. "Don't look at me like that. We've been married for fifty years. I've known her my whole life. I'd feel if that part of me was missing." He paused. "You make a face as if you've lost all hope in the world, boy."

It felt strange, being called out like that.

Killua put the licenses back into the envelope moved his head in its direction. "Do you think this has something to do with it?" he asked.

"In what way?"

"Hunters are not liked by everyone. The opposite, actually. Well, some of them, at least."

"I see. I don't think it has anything to do with her being a Hunter, but you never know. That's why I showed it to you."

"True," Killua agreed absentmindedly. He gave him back the envelope and leaned his back against the table, crossing his arms. "Where did she disappear?"

"She wanted to go grocery-shopping and never came back. I waited all evening, but when she wasn't back by nine o'clock, I called the police."

"Anything suspicious?"

"No."

"Was she involved in anything dangerous?"

"No. No, I don't think so. We both decided to grow old in peace. As you can see, it worked wonderfully." There was no mirth in his voice. "It seems Hunters never _really_ have peace."

Killua nodded.

He'd figured as much.

* * *

Papers lay strewn across the table of the café, covering the whole surface, burying the tablecloth entirely. The curious gazes of other customers sitting at the tables around them took in the mess, hushed whispers accompanying them. A few elder women shook their heads in disbelief.

Killua and Cyrene realized they were being judged, but neither made any move to clean it up. They sat opposite of each other, sipping a cool, home-made ice-tea. It was almost too sweet to drink, but the fruity flavour exploding in her mouth made the hot, humid air more bearable. Feeling the sweat tickle down her neck, Cyrene dabbed the area with a paper napkin.

"That's all on my end," Killua finished summarising his interrogation with Mr. Bonnay. "He wasn't able to tell me more."

Cyrene nodded; her eyes were fixated on one particular paper in the middle of the table. After some contemplation, she picked it up and inspected it, even though she'd already done so numerous times throughout the past few minutes. Her eyes skimmed the page over and over, always faltering at the same line.

Killua craned his neck to check which paper was missing, and asked, "Are you still hung up over that?" There was no annoyance in his voice.

Cyrene lifted her head and saw his eyes shine with the same uncertainty as her own. His hands were slung around the glass in front of him, but she saw them twitching to tear the paper out of her hands to look at it himself. She shook her head and tossed the paper back onto the table. "It's the only clue we have."

"I wouldn't call that a clue," Killua remarked. "Mr. Bonnay assured me they'd both decided to stop the Hunter business many years ago. Why do you think Madeleine Bonnay being a Hunter is a clue?" Hearing the genuine curiosity in his voice made her smirk.

"I know you're thinking the same, Killua." His eyebrows twitched at that, but he didn't argue. "We don't have anything else, and _this_ ," she pointed at the scribbled ' _Mrs. and Mr. Bonnay were Hunters'_ on the paper, "Is the only lead we have right now. There aren't many Hunters on this planet, let alone in this region, so why go through the trouble and abduct someone potentially dangerous?"

"There could be millions of other reasons to abduct Madeleine Bonnay aside from her being a Hunter. It might be a coincidence."

"If I wrote everything I find off as a mere coincidence, I'd never make any progress. Being a Lost Hunter means having to take a leap of faith from time to time."

Killua scowled and pursed his lips. "I get that," he said, "but you told me Mr. Hecket wasn't a Hunter, right? So what's with that? Not to mention Milly; who is definitely not a Hunter, either."

Cyrene closed her eyes. "That's exactly where the problem lies. I have no idea how these disappearances connect." Feeling the agitation building up, she took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down. "Mrs. Bonnay disappeared, and she was a Hunter. Fine. But Mr. Hecket disappeared as well, as did his _cow,_ by the way _,_ – his _fucking_ _cow_ – and he was _not_ a Hunter. It doesn't make any sense. Why would someone abduct a Hunter and then a _cow_?"

"Wait, wait, wait," Killua interrupted her triad. "Slow down. Where does the cow fit in? Are you sure the cow didn't just escape, or, I don't know, get eaten by a wolf or something? That'd make a _lot_ more sense. I get the whole thing about taking a leap of faith, but that's one _huge_ leap of faith."

Shrugging her shoulders, Cyrene sighed. "It disappeared the same night as its owner; we have to at least consider the possibility. Not to mention the animals were all in the cow barn when it happened, and that barn is closed overnight. No way an animal can enter or escape on its own without breaking in a wall, so there's that."

"I see, I guess."

"Also, a cow's worth a lot of money," she added, shrugging her shoulders.

Killua raised his eyebrows and leaned forward, a few papers flying away and to the ground. "… As is a Hunter license, which a Hunter normally carries around with them. Maybe they didn't know Mrs. Bonnay retired years ago. Maybe they thought if they caught her, they'd also get her license."

Cyrene met him halfway over the table, excited at the prospect of making progress. "You might be on to something, actually!" She paused for a moment, as if she remembered something crucial, and as she fell back into her seat, she grimaced. "But my brother has not received any demands for ransom. If money _is_ their motive, wouldn't they demand money from us? Looks like another dead end to me."

"Maybe the abductors don't want the money from your brother, but… but from someone else."

Cyrene froze. The words hit her like a truck, and the implication behind them made her want to vomit on the spot. Cold dread pooled in her stomach. She gagged and held a hand over her mouth. "Oh go- Oh god."

 _No way. Milly can't be - no way._

She'd had a few cases of children being abducted to be sold to the highest bidder on the black market. She'd never forget those cases.

To this day, the memories of dozens of battered boys and girls in ripped clothes, covered in bruises and huddled together on the floor, a fear-stricken expression on their faces, hadn't left her.

As she saw the scene replay in her head, she paused. Numerous children; all held captive in one room. Her eyes widened. "No, no, no," she whispered. "No, that wouldn't make any sense. These kinds of people are like… collectors, they have a very niche kind of clientele. It wouldn't be lucrative to- to sell a bunch of other stuff aside from children. Why expand their variety of goods to Hunter licenses and cows?" A very particular expression formed on her face. "Cows especially," she shook her head in utter confusion. "Why a _cow_? That is honestly so strange. I can't believe I'm discussing the disappearance of a cow."

Killua snorted. "Maybe you should change your title to 'Cow Hunter' after this whole ordeal."

"Hey, we're in this together, remember?"

Grimacing, he shook his head. "I will not be called a Cow Hunter. Hell no. This is a temporary alliance between me and a future Cow Hunter, not more."

"What kind of Hunter are you, anyway? Alluka never told me."

Killua kept silent for a moment, but Cyrene thought he didn't look as if he really needed to think about it. "I guess I don't really care."

"I get that, but there must be veteran Hunters mocking you for it, right?" She'd heard it herself, when she'd first started searching for Najla after she'd passed the Hunter Exam.

' _Rookie'_

That's what they'd called her, over and over.

"I lived my whole childhood feeling constrained," Killua said, and while his words carried a weight Cyrene couldn't begin to comprehend, his tone was light. "I'm done feeling constrained. I'll do whatever the hell I want, whenever and wherever I feel like it. If I'm being mocked for it, that's not something that'll stop me."

She believed him. She truly believed there wasn't _anything_ in this world that could stop Killua Zoldyck from doing what he wanted to do.

Alluka was proof enough.

"Okay," she sighed, "let's clean up this mess and head back home. We need to decide what to do next."

"Right." He looked at her, contemplatively. "Soo," he drawled, and she looked up, "are you a Cow Hunter now?"

"You're a fucking idiot!"


End file.
